Third Chances and Redemption
by Vanilla Mochi
Summary: Because he took Matthew for granted. And he won't make the same mistake again. Warnings: AU, ACE and British colonies family


**A/N: Alright, I know I haven't been publishing much, recently... but I had schoolwork. And as much as I love writing fanfiction, school comes first. ^^' I typed this up a while ago, just didn't have time to polish it. I have another story idea and it's going to be the chapter type... maybe, if I can stick with it. I also have to start on something important too.**

In a quaint mansion on the countryside of Devon, lived an English gentleman named Arthur Kirkland.

He sat at his tea table, legs criss-crossed, and a cup of tea in his hand. Glancing outside the open window to his right, Arthur inhaled the country air, feeling the wind across his face. It was one of those days, the fair-weathered ones, where the clouds ambled across the sky and time seemed to pass by slowly. The kind of day where everyone moved rather sluggishly, relaxed. There was no need to hurry because there was nothing to do.

It wasn't too hot, but it wasn't too cold either. Perhaps everyone succumbed to the warmth of the sunlight, who in turn, gave them time to think, or, in Arthur's case, to reminisce. Mull over his lost two sons, the sons who left him alone.

Now, they weren't his only children, I mean, there was Leon, the Asian orphan whom Arthur had taken under his wing after Leon was abandoned by a too large family in China, Angelina, a Seychellois girl Arthur had found while on a business trip, Jett, a boisterous Australian who lived off the streets of London for two months with his little sister, Kalie, after their parents died in an automobile crash, and Christian, a New Zealander taking refuge at an English orphanage. Heck, there was even Peter, the annoying little cousin of Arthur's, who was forced to visit sometimes.

But Alfred F. Jones and Matthew Williams were special. Not that Arthur played favoritism, but they were his first. The first of the many children Arthur would unknowingly father later in life.

Arthur sipped his tea, letting the hot liquid trickle down his throat. The kids were at school, all taking their exams that they had studied so hard for. Angelina and Leon were almost done with Year 9, their first year in high school. Jett was probably struggling with Year 10 exams, while Christian probably breezed through them, taking a nap afterward. Kalie had only a few more hours left of primary school; no exams for her- yet.

As for Arthur, he was treasuring what little time he could spend with himself. He loved all of his children, but even he needed a break too sometimes! Running around England, picking his children up from school to drive them to sports activities to social events to competitions, Arthur couldn't help but remember the old days, when he did same for Alfred and his football practices.

Alfred Kirkland was the apple of Arthur's eye. The golden boy, the first born, the diamond Arthur had so dearly treasured and protected. From the moment Arthur laid eyes on Alfred, Arthur knew Alfred was destined for great things and it was a father's duty to help him.

For the next sixteen years, Arthur did everything he could to raise Alfred to be a man. A man people could trust. A man who kept his word, always. Arthur had tried so hard, even during the final years when Alfred was riding through his rebellious teenage stage. At the dawn of Alfred's seventeenth birthday, however, he disappeared, running away to America, the so-called land of freedom, after a taxing row between father and son.

Alfred had slammed the door so hard, it was haunting to Arthur's ears. With a pack of basic supplies and his trusty baseball bat, Alfred had traveled across the Atlantic to make a name for himself. He even changed his last name to Jones. And he never looked back once.

Matthew, in a way, looked much like his elder brother of one year, Alfred. They had the same hair color and eye shape. But Matthews's eyes- they were violet, hidden behind a pair of glasses. His hair reminded Arthur suspiciously of Francis, Arthur's French brother-in-law (frog), a cascade of wavy blonde locks. They shone like gold in the sunlight.

Arthur never meant to neglect Matthew. As a matter of fact, Arthur probably wasn't even aware of his treatment. He really did care about Matthew, though he wasn't very good at showing it, unlike to Alfred. However, that didn't stop Arthur from being somewhat resentful of Matthew.

When Matthew was born, the labor had been too strenuous for his mother to handle, the love of Arthur's life. The first seconds of Matthew's life had also been the final moments of the late Francine Bonnefoy-Kirkland.

For that same reason, Matthew was closer to Francis, his mother's brother. It was Francis, not Arthur, who commended Matthew and whom Matthew looked up to as a father figure.

Nonetheless, Matthew never blamed Arthur for the salutary neglect and Arthur never stopped caring about Matthew.

Nowadays, when Arthur looked back on those days, the days when he had juggled seven kids and a job as an English professor at Gressenheller University, he couldn't help but harp at himself for being such a horrible father.

Arthur begrudgingly admitted that he had been a terrible dad, especially for Matthew. For one thing, unlike the rest of the Kirklands, who affectionately referred to Arthur as 'Dad' or 'Pops', Matthew always called Arthur father. Only to Francis, did Matthew ever say 'Papa.'

There had been plenty of times when Matthew attempted to include Arthur in his life, but every time, every single time, the son's courage faltered.

"Father?" Matthew had once asked Arthur as a fourteen year old, peeking into Arthur's study. The old grandfather clock had rung eight times; it was eight o'clock in evening- the beginning of Arthur's tea time.

"Matthew?" Arthur glanced behind his chair. The fireplace roared behind him, greedily consuming the burning log, "Well what is it, lad? Come in!" he ordered hastily. Matthew shuffled into the room, face red and his hands behind him.

"Um, Father I-"

"Out with it already, Matthew; my tea's getting cold." Arthur said curtly, turning back to his book.

"I'm sorry." Matthew mumbled, fidgeting, "Uh, Father, are you free next week? At five?"

"When would that be? Oh the 15th, right? Well," Arthur scowled, flipping a page, "oh, your uncle is having a 'party' at his house. Bloody Frog wants me to be over there- he says I need to get out more. Who says I don't? I have plenty of friends, thank you very much." Suddenly, he realized he was rambling and looked back at Matthew, apologetically, "I'm sorry- I must've been rambling. Is something happening that day, Matthew?" Arthur asked politely.

"Actually-" Matthew paused, hesitating to say something, then changing his mind, "No. Nothing's going on. I was just wondering."

Arthur raised a thick brow, "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I am. I'll see you in the morning, Father." Matthew quickly answered, scurrying to the door, "Good night."

"Good night then, Matthew." Matthew had shut the door, the click of the knob ringing in Arthur's ears. Arthur stared at the door, blinking, wondering if Matthew had wanted to say something. He shrugged, turning back into his leather-covered book.

What Matthew had earlier in his hand was a flyer of the hockey championship he and his team were going to complete in. He wanted Arthur to watch him.

"Dad... I'm no longer your son... or anything like that anymore. I choose freedom." The door slammed shut, the vibration ringing throughout the house. Arthur stood a few feet away, wide-eyed with trauma.

The moments before played over and over in his mind, like on continuous replay. His son, Alfred, blue eyes indignant, screaming obscurities in his own father's face. Alfred turning his back on Arthur. Arthur screaming, 'Don't you dare turn your back on me, young man!' Alfred shooting back, 'Make me!', while yanking the door open. Alfred turning back to Arthur one last time, blue eyes remorseful, then hardening, announcing, "I'm no longer your son... or anything like that anymore. I choose freedom."

Arthur's body wavered from side to side, legs shaking, before Arthur collapsed to the hard floor. Green eyes bulging, face cradled in agony, Arthur buried his head into his legs, holding his insides in attempt to quiet his agony.

_He had just lost his son._

Arthur tried to ignore the pain and tried to steady his breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out-

"Father?" Arthur glanced up. Was that Alfred? It had to be! The person in front him had blonde hair and glasses, just like Alfred. "Father, what happened?"

Arthur tackled Alfred in a hug, clinging to him like a lifesaver. "Father? Are you alright?" He asked. Arthur dragged Alfred to his knees, letting out a sob.

"Oh Alfred!" He wept, tears streaming down his cheeks, "I thought you left me alone! Don't ever do that to me again!" He blubbered against Alfred's chest.

"Mais… but Father…" Alfred started, trailing off, hands falling to the marble floor. When Arthur looked up at Alfred, Alfred's face was downcast, crestfallen.

"I'm Matthew…"

The next two years had passed by in a blur. Through he was still the same Professor Kirkland at Gressenheller University, students could see the puffy red eyes he had in morning and the smell of alcohol permeated the classroom like fog.

After Alfred ran away from home, Arthur was heartbroken, too caught up in his agony to care for the rest of his kids. He began drinking, drowning his sorrow over his lost son in alcohol. Obviously, Arthur was incapable of raising his five remaining children.

So who was the one who stepped up to the plate and took over the father figure of the house for the next three years? The one who made sure the kids ate and did their homework? Matthew. He gave up his dream to become a professional hockey player and by some miracle, Matthew somehow had managed to juggle schoolwork and a part-time job, all while raising three younger brothers, two little sisters, and heck, even Arthur, himself.

Whenever Arthur came home, completely drunk from ale, it was Matthew who made sure Arthur got his bedroom safe and sound. It was Matthew who forced Arthur to eat three meals a day and go to work to pay the taxes. When Arthur woke up, crying in the middle of the night, the one by his side immediately was Matthew, the one that Arthur latched on to, fat tears straining the son's shirt.

And so, two years went by slowly and Arthur began slowly heal from Alfred's departure. However, life is ever-changing, like water and it threw yet another curveball.

One day, Matthew suddenly disappeared. Gone without a trace. He couldn't even tell Arthur or the younger siblings that he was leaving. And he left only a note behind.

That morning, Arthur had been feeling a little better than usual. He got out of bed, only to find a note folded in two on his desk.

"Father," It read on top in messy cursive.

"Father,

Got chosen to compete in an international cooking competition in Canada; flight's tonight, don't look for me. Will be staying with a friend. Take care of them- they need a father, not me.

-Matthew"

At first, Arthur was furious; how could Matthew be so… so… selfish! Following his brother's footsteps just top pursue some 'dream' of his… hadn't he learned from Alfred? What about Arthur? Hadn't Arthur suffered enough?

Arthur's knees hit the floor, slumping with glassy eyes.

_First Alfred and now Matthew… why? What have I done, God?_

Arthur glanced back at the now crumpled letter, gazing over Matthew's final words:

"Take care of them- they need a father, not me."

"Them…" Arthur whispered. He gasped, jumping to his feet. They, as in Jett, Christian, Leon, Angelina, and Kalie: when was the last time Arthur talked to them? What happened to them? Arthur vaguely remembered seeing the Francis- bloody Francis a few times in the kitchen, but who had been taking care of them? Questions buzzed around like bumblebees and before Arthur knew it, he was up and out of the room, sprinting down the hallway.

He checked all their bedrooms; it was only seven o'clock in the morning, right? They were all empty. Panic swelled in Arthur.

_Oh god, where are they? Please tell me they haven't left too!_

He rushed down downstairs into the kitchen and the salon: empty, just like their bedrooms. Arthur then scuttled back upstairs, finally tumbling over to Matthew's bedroom, the one room that Arthur hadn't entered for the last twelve years. He slammed the door open, afraid of what was inside.

And there they were, all of them, fast asleep on Matthew's bed, embraced by the sunlight through an open window. Jett was drooling, the back of his hand sprawled over Christian, who was hugging a pillow and was on the edge of the bed. Kalie was sandwiched between Jett and Angelina and Leon was on the other end of the bed, holding hands with Angelina, who wore a soft smile. Quietly, Arthur approached them, casting his shadow over them.

Leon, forever the sharp one, stirred, his gold eyes struggling to open. He sat up, rubbing one eye before noticing Arthur.

He stiffened and Arthur did the same.

"Dad." Leon stated, dropping his hand, "What are you doing here? Where's Matthew?"

"_Take care of them- they need a father, not me."_

What a fool Arthur had been. He wasn't only one hurting over Alfred; Matthew was hurting, Leon was hurting, they were all hurting. Instead of moping about for the past two years, Arthur should've stayed strong, keep the family together during the tough times.

But he didn't; Matthew did.

"Dad?" Arthur crushed Leon in a tight hug. Tears blurred Arthur's vision, dripping on Angelina's nightgown.

"I'm sorry." Arthur chortled, "I am so sorry…"

_Thank you, Matthew, for giving me this final, third chance._

It had been more than five years since Matthew left home. Seven, for Alfred. They never visited, but Arthur wasn't worried. They were strong, in their own ways. Whatever life threw at them, Arthur was positive they would be fine.

The doorbell rang, snapping Arthur out of his thoughts. He placed his tea cup on the table.

"Coming!" He said, striding to the door. On the other end of the door, stood the mailman with the usual crooked grin and crumpled uniform.

"Afternoon, Arthur," greeted the mailman, pulling at three letters out of his mail bag, "Here's your mail." He handed Arthur the envelopes.

"Thank you. Good day to you, sir." Arthur took the envelopes, closing the door once the mailman turned away with a nod of his cap.

The first two envelopes were from Arthur's students, with questions about the summer work Arthur assigned. The third one, however, made Arthur forget about the first two.

Shakily, he ripped the envelope open, not even bothering to use the letter opener and pulled the letter out. A few minutes passed before Arthur grinned.

He dropped the letter, walking out of the salon to prepare: Matthew was coming home.

_Dear Father,_

_Business at the bakery is going great! We made more enough profit, so I'm coming back to England to visit. Please don't tell my siblings- I want to surprise them!_

_Love,_

_Matthew_

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed it!**_  
_


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